


Tea and Sympathy

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:31:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspector Lestrade never had a chance to utter his lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea and Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: Mrs Hudson: what is the final straw? Take it any way and in any direction you like!

 

If I'd been asked, I'd have claimed that I'd been in the neighborhood and just stopped by since I was so near.

This was a lie.

However, no one but Mr. Holmes was likely to see it, and I was certain he had enough other things on his mind. Even if he did notice, I doubted he'd say anything, and I would never admit to him or anyone else that I'd traveled across half of London just to try and get fresh news of Doctor Watson's condition. An Inspector of the Yard – even one as close to retirement as I was – had better things to do with his time.

A friend, however, had few other duties as urgent as this. And as a friend of both the doctor and Mr. Holmes, I had twice the reason to appear on the doorstep of Baker Street, even if I found myself turned away on the stoop.

I wasn't.

Mrs. Hudson herself answered the door. She looked pale and worn, but greeted me with a kind smile. "Inspector Lestrade, good morning. Are you here for Mr. Holmes? I'm afraid he's engaged at present, but I can offer you a cup of tea, if you care to wait."

It was on the tip of my tongue to decline, and ask instead about Doctor Watson's condition. After all, if anyone knew anything, Mrs. Hudson did, and I could just as easily learn what I wanted to know from her. But something stopped me, some instinct born of years of police-work.  I am not unobservant, no matter what Mr. Holmes likes to say. “That would be lovely, Mrs. Hudson.”

I followed her back to her own sitting-room, a cozy, well-lit room full of comfortable furniture and innumerable knick-knacks, all impeccably dusted. She waved me to an armchair and moved to the tea-tray set on a side table.

“And how are you doing, Mrs. Hudson?”

A simple enough question, almost a commonplace, although one I sincerely meant.

_Not_ the kind of question you expect to bring a competent, calm, and in her own way, battle-hardened landlady to sudden tears.

I sprang to my feet and hurried to her side. “Mrs. Hudson?”

“I’m sorry, Inspector. I don’t know what’s come over me.” She briefly hid her face in her handkerchief, then looked up at me with streaming eyes. “But do you know you’re the first person to ask me that? I’ve had at least a dozen callers here this morning, all asking after the doctor. It’s natural enough, the dear man. Everyone’s worried to death, even though he’s much better today.” She took a gasping breath. “But even so, I can’t stop thinking. It’s Doctor Watson today. It was Mr. Holmes not so long ago, beaten nearly to death. They’re neither of them getting any younger, and things keep happening, and how long is it until one or both of them…” Her sentence trailed off in a near-silent sob.

“Dear lady.” I pressed her hand, but had no other words for her. How could I offer comfort, when I had none? I struggled with exactly the same thoughts, the same fears, and I was only a Yard Inspector and (I liked to think) friend. How much more heavy the concern, being their land-lady, the woman who housed them, brought them tea, planned their meals, and otherwise cared for them, day in and day out?

It wasn’t long before Mrs. Hudson regained her composure. She is one of the bravest ladies I have ever known. By mutual, unspoken consent, we both refrained from discussing her brief lapse, then or ever. But I made note to myself to speak to Mr. Holmes, and to Doctor Watson once he’d recovered. I knew that they both had some idea of the treasure they had in Mrs. Hudson.  I also knew there was little they would not do for her, if it was within their power. I could only hope that taking slightly better care of themselves and each other – venturing slightly fewer risks – was something they could do, for her sake, as well as their own.

For even the bravest, strongest soul has its breaking point.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 4, 2012


End file.
